


Blue Willow

by gritkitty



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen Work, Het, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-31
Updated: 2007-05-31
Packaged: 2019-04-29 07:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14467674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gritkitty/pseuds/gritkitty
Summary: Remembering why he disliked Simon so well helped him ignore the pretty above the shoes.





	Blue Willow

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Beta thanks to Nestra, Shanola2, Castalianspring.

  
Author's notes: Beta thanks to Nestra, Shanola2, Castalianspring.  


* * *

Blue Willow

## Blue Willow

Mal trusted Warwick Harrow to deal straight with him, so when he contacted Mal about a tricky job, Mal accepted. Harrow was tough but true, like good hardwood and just as rare on the outer planets, but mostly he was tough, even for someone who thought a red sash was attractive on a stomach that big. He explained how he had lost a valuable art object to theft; the object had recently turned up in the private collection of a rival collector on the northern continent, and it needed retrieving. Mal wouldn't even have to steal it -- he just had to buy it back without revealing the true buyer. Harrow would supply the money. Mal planned on bargaining close and pocketing a bonus. He was pretty sure Harrow would understand. 

He was less happy with the how. 

"I can help," said Simon. "I've done it before." 

Mal cut a look at him that snagged on details. Doe eyes, rich waistcoat, white hands. Pretty as Inara, but not as confident. Not even close. And he hated Simon's shoes. "You were a trifle hesitant as I recall. Looking to me for guidance when you should've been firm." 

"This is hardly the same thing." Simon shrugged, that graceful, dismissing movement of shoulder and head of his that always exasperated Mal. "Funny, as I recall it was your idea the first time. And I'm not the one who complicated matters then, Captain; that was Jayne. I did my part." 

"He did at that," said Zoe mildly. "Might even have learned a thing or two." 

"Yes. Yes, I did." Simon looked to her, encouraged, just as Mal feared he'd be, and then turned back to Mal. "Things were hardly perfect that time, but they were successful. And this time it's a civilized place, not a mud-hole. I know what to do." 

"Things got dangerous last time," said Mal. "Just 'cause the furniture's nicer doesn't mean this is gonna be a cakewalk. That's what you seem to have a hard time wrapping your smart doctor head around: things can get dangerous without even trying." 

"Harboring my sister and me is dangerous. Flying is dangerous. Space is dangerous. You know, they teach doctors pretty early on that just living is ultimately fatal." Simon was going somewhere with this, Mal could tell by his tone of voice, and sure enough, he crossed his arms, smug. "But we're talking about buying a teapot. I'm not exactly quaking in my shoes." 

"He's got a point," said Zoe. 

"On top of his head maybe, which don't matter none anyhow seeing how I'm not looking for suggestions in the first place." Mal glowered at her, as if he could ever hope to shut her down when she knew she had the high ground. It didn't daunt her in the least -- she just lifted her chin and smiled a little -- but he couldn't keep glowering at Simon because it didn't work on him, either. He just got impudent, and that made Mal want to bite chunks out of his own ship. 

And sure enough the impudence broke through. Simon gazed up and shook his head as if he was addressing some invisible audience above Mal's right shoulder. "I can't believe I'm arguing so hard for the right to do something so -- " He broke off and looked at Mal. "I want to help." 

"Then keep your sister out of the way and be handy when we need doctorin'." 

Simon looked at the floor, which made an appealing picture of both his exasperation and the feathered smudges of his eyelashes. Like a girl's, but not. He shouldn't be that pretty and not charge for it. 

"Captain." Zoe was hiding her amusement, but only just. "The lady wants to deal with a gentleman. He's the one best fits the part on this ship." 

Mal looked down. They were less shiny now, but Simon wore the same shoes that first set foot on _Serenity_. At the time Mal had guessed they cost more than a new single-seat hovercraft; now he was sure they cost more. His fourteenth year Mal had traveled two seasons with the herds to earn enough coin for a piece of crap hoverbike he'd had to rebuild before she'd wobble just above the corn. Remembering why he disliked Simon so well helped him ignore the pretty above the shoes. "Fine. You know anything about art?" 

"Yes. River knows more, she --" 

"River don't leave the ship." 

Simon's anger always looked like incredulity, as if he couldn't believe it was happening to him. He knew sarcasm well enough, though. "Thank you for the reminder, Captain. I might have forgotten to tie her up before I go." 

"I'll check the knots." Mal pushed away from the console and walked past Zoe's disapproving sniff to the door. "Wear something . . ." he paused long enough to look Simon up and down again, and waved his hand, ". . . artistic." 

Stomping down the corridor, the grate floor vibrating under his feet, Mal remembered it was Zoe who started that dust-up by suggesting Simon in the first place. What bothered him was how long it lasted. And Zoe and Simon both got their way. 

* 

The teapot thief was Lady Margery, wealthy dowager and zealous guardian of her family's respectability and her daughters' virtue. Inara knew china patterns well enough to identify the piece and would do just that, but she needed someone to go with her. "Obviously, the Lady Margery is not above using whatever methods necessary to carry on her business, and she'll do anything to avoid anyone finding out what those methods might be," Warwick had explained. "She'll do business with a Companion, but she won't let it be known to her neighbors, so you'll have to send in someone who can pretend to be the buyer, to keep up appearances, someone who can at least bluff his way in the door as an art dealer." He'd given Mal the once-over. "You might want to contract that part out." 

Of course, Simon fit the bill, which stung when it shouldn't. Mal refused to coddle the sort of daydreams that refined him well enough to take Inara on his arm, that gave Inara a different profession. Musings like that never entered Mal's head, and if they dared, he knocked them from his thoughts like mud from his boots, because girls or poets might indulge cow-eyed pining or unrequited longing, but he'd refused surrender to something that he didn't believe in during the war, and he wouldn't surrender to something that couldn't exist now, even if he'd once danced with Inara in a dancing hall filled with light and finely dressed people. It was the feel of Inara in his arms he remembered best, not the glitter. 

Simon did fit the bill, as fancy as flowers, and Mal'd be a tall fool not to use him. He would more than likely manage his part of the job and not instigate a duel, too, but Mal decided to accompany Simon and Inara to the Dowager's estate anyhow. Inara suggested he walk two steps behind them as their bodyguard. "And don't interfere," she'd warned. Mal had spread his hands wide, _who, me?_ before finding his second-best clothes; it seemed even bodyguards had a standard of refinement to uphold. He just hoped it wouldn't involve a sword. 

At the estate they were presented to Lady Margery in her parlor, and formal introductions were exchanged. There wasn't an inch of woodwork in the room that wasn't obviously refined, and there wasn't a hair out of place on the Dowager's gray head. She nodded at Simon, ignored Mal, and directed a pointed look at Inara. 

"I understand you've come into possession of a teapot," began Simon. "My companion and I would like to -- " 

"You are a Companion," the Dowager said, pointing at Inara. "I have no issue with your profession, but not everyone sees it my way, and I want no shadow of impropriety or inappropriate business going on in my house." 

"I am currently unattached, and indeed, I'm not seeking clients at this time," said Inara. "Simon is my business partner." 

"I find it hard to believe someone could resist your charms," she said, and then cast a baleful eye at Simon. "I'll not have anyone chasing after my daughters, either. You're a comely young man, but I won't have them lower themselves for a merchant no matter how pretty, oh, no." 

Simon opened his mouth to protest, but Inara said, "You flatter me, and I thank you. But I am not a suitable Companion for Simon, and Simon will not pursue your daughters. I assure you, there's no need to worry about their virtue." 

Mal wondered at the emphasis, _I_ , and wondered more when Inara's gaze fell delicately down, and then brushed Mal's gun-belt before resting on Simon, a subtle move beautiful in its simplicity, and as telling as a supernova. 

"Ah!" Lady Margery reassessed Mal with a knowing look in her eye. Mal shifted, uncomfortable with the regard. "I believe I finally understand. Now it makes sense." Her entire manner toward Simon warmed, and she said, "I apologize for my caution. It's hard to raise up six daughters and marry them off well. You must stay the night! We get so few visitors out here. I'll get you settled in your rooms, and you must dine with us. We can finish our transaction after we eat, like civilized folk." She clapped her hands, and a neat, balding man wearing a gray suit and a black necklace entered from the hall. 

"We really can't stay," said Simon. 

"Nonsense -- of course you can, and I won't hear of you leaving, not before breakfast tomorrow morning." She smiled and added, "I'll have your things sent to the appropriate rooms. I would not want to separate you from your, ah," she looked at Mal's gun-belt, "creature comforts." 

"Oh. Oh!" Simon's eyes widened behind his glasses. "I'm not -- he's, that is to say --" 

"Say no more, dear. Really. We might not be a core planet, but we're not without a certain cosmopolitan flair." She waved a hand at the man. "Zire will show you to your rooms. Do make yourself comfortable." 

* 

Of course there was only one bed. No couch -- not even a comfortable chair, just two spindly things suitable for decorative pillows or yappy lapdogs. Simon's bag was at the foot of the bed. Mal's overcoat hung in the corner. 

"This is . . . awkward," said Simon. 

"Why? Forget your toothbrush? I suppose I can lend you mine, seeing how I'm your fancy-man." 

Simon didn't rise to the bait, just gave him a look and said, "You're not fancy." 

"And I ain't yours, either." Mal sat on the corner of the bed and bounced a little, testing the mattress. Springy. "We'll just buy the teapot tonight after diner, and then scoot on out of here, slick as anything. And then I'm gonna have a word with our favorite Companion. Speak of the devil," he said as a tap on the door preceded Inara. She began laughing soon as the door closed behind her. 

"Oh, very cozy. I'm sure you two will be very comfortable." 

"Oh, I will," replied Mal, "because I'll have the bed." 

"Oh, come on!" protested Simon. 

"Get over yourself. We'll leave after we get the teapot." 

"The Lady Margery was insistent that we stay the night." Inara sobered. "It could very well be in our best interests to indulge her. She's a very powerful woman in this community." 

"I think I've got this part of the planet figured out." Mal fell back onto the bed and put his hands behind his head. "Though it is a comfy bed." 

"You nearly got killed last time." 

"But I didn't. And I don't plan on challenging anyone else to a duel, trust me. That," he said, "was not something I'd care to repeat." 

"Still, we should tread lightly." Inara went to the window and pushed aside the drape with the back of her hand and looked out. "Warwick commands a lot of respect here, but even he thought Lady Margery challenging enough to avoid by hiring us." 

"Yeah, for a _teapot_. He's probably just embarrassed." 

She looked at Mal. "Did you notice her majordomo, Zire? There's more to him than meets the eye. He's no simple footman." 

Simon turned. "What do you mean?" 

"He's been trained in martial arts. He has the moves, and his necklace, the charm," she explained, "that is the symbol of the premiere school on Osiris." 

"Is he packing? No." Mal answered his own question. "I ain't worried." 

"You should be," Inara said. "He doesn't need a gun to kill you." 

* 

Dinner was an extravagant affair. The Lady Margery sat Mal between Inara and Simon in the middle of one side of a long table. They were flanked with two of her daughters on the left and one on the right; three daughters, Zire, and another two men sat on the other. Lady Margery sat at the head of the table, and a large man sat at the foot, bull-like in size, as well as in intelligence, if his vacant expression meant anything. There was a lot of satin above the china, but Inara outshone the women in the room, a brighter spark among flowers, even wearing a respectable muted gold dress instead of her usual smoky reds and fringe. She was hard to look away from, and Simon out-prettied all the men and two of the daughters. Mal sat up in his chair and straightened his shoulders. He had that, at least, over the others. The daughter across from him smiled. He smiled back. 

"I trust you find the soup acceptable, Mr. Reynolds?" 

Startled, Mal said, "Yes, Ma'am." 

"I'd be appalled if it couldn't hold your attention." 

"No, Ma'am." He took a quick slurp and felt Inara's exasperation when she kicked him in the ankle. "Finest soup I've had." 

The Lady sniffed. Mal turned his head enough to whisper, "Do you mind holding off crippling me until we're home? I'd like to hobble out of here with some dignity." 

"And you say you don't believe in miracles," she whispered back. 

Mal managed the soup, and then the fish, without further incident, wisely keeping to himself, letting Inara hold up the conversation on one side and Simon on the other. When the meat dish was placed in front of him, the dowager again directed her attention to his part of the table. "I trust you find the filet to your liking, Simon?" 

Simon turned away from the pretty blonde daughter, surprised, and affirmed that it was very much to his liking. Mal anticipated Inara's opinion and kicked Simon in the ankle. He glared at Mal before resuming his conversation with the blonde. 

By dessert, the Lady Margery was very displeased. The table was cleared, she dismissed her daughters and the other dinner guests except for Zire and her son, the imposing man at the foot of the table, and rose from her chair with Zire's help. "Let us retire to the parlor," she said, but the blonde daughter protested. "I want to join you, Mama. I have such an interest in art, and Simon has been telling me all about the galleries on Ariel." 

"We'll be talking about teapots," she said, a glint in her eye. 

Her daughter was named for the classic actress Caramina Argentini, a vapid beauty who'd starred in fairytale romance stories, who'd married more men than Mal had shirts and died tragically young, an icon famous enough even for the dirt-grubbers on the outer planets to know her name and face twenty years after her death. This particular Caramina was cut not from the same cloth as the actress in neither glamour nor temperament, but she was pretty and had her mother's spunk, and with the same glint in her eye retorted, "And since the teapot is part of the family collection, it behooves me to learn more about how we manage our material assets." The other girls chimed in, all of them with names as labored and pretentious as their sister's and just as determined. Mal swallowed with a dry mouth, and the Lady Margery gave her grudging permission and swept out on Zire's arm, deeply unhappy, followed by her daughters. 

Inara lingered behind Mal, tugged Simon's sleeve to hold him back, and whispered furiously at them both, "You two are making her suspicious. You've got to pretend you like each other, at least." 

"But we don't," said Simon before Caramina swept close, tucked her hand under his arm and led him away. 

"You think she's keeping a tally of who's holding hands under the table?" Mal whispered back. 

"I think that's exactly what she's doing." 

"What about kicking?" He left, just ahead of another daughter's attempt at his arm. Behind him he heard Inara mutter, " _Run-tse duh fwotzoo_ , please at least make them stop smiling at her daughters." The dowager's son offered her his arm, which was almost as big around as her waist, and she had to discontinue her irate prayers. 

* 

In the parlor Simon sat on a loveseat and Mal sat on a chair across the room. The girls arranged themselves around each like birds crowding two seed spills. Inara stood with the Lady by a small table to examine a pretty grouping of teapots. Zire glided around the perimeter of the room. Margery's son loomed by the door like another wall. 

"You have a lovely collection, Lady Margery," Inara said. "Every one of these would be the envy of any collector." 

"Some more than others," she demurred, but Mal suspected she was talking about collectors, one in particular, instead of teapots, and he wondered just what Warwick Harrow had done to the Lady Margery. "Zire, some port, please." 

Mal tried to refuse, but Zire insisted by not leaving until he took a dainty glass from the tray. Inara accepted hers with grace. Simon drank his down quickly and Zire provided him another despite Mal's glaring at him. If the kid got drunk Mal would boot him out the airlock soon as they cleared the clouds. The girls sitting with him seemed to have other ideas and plied him with nuts and sweets and more tiny glasses whenever Zire toured the room, which was fairly regular while Inara and the Lady Margery worked their way through the collection of china. 

"This is an amazing example of Waterford Brocade," Inara was saying, lifting the lid reverently, "but I doubt you would wish to part with it." 

She asserted she might be persuaded, given the right incentive, and she and Inara discussed the merits of every blasted teapot on the table while Caramina and her sisters Tina and Melody edged closer and closer to Simon on the loveseat while Tiffany, Angelica, and Sissy, the youngest, perched themselves around Mal's chair. 

Tiffany kept offering him too-sweet bon-bons. Angelica wanted to know where Mal got his clothes, _so charmingly old-fashioned, it's refreshing_ , and plucked at the collar. Sissy asked him straight out if he'd ever killed anyone in his duties as a gentleman's bodyguard, and Mal modestly said _Well, I did kick a man into my ship's thruster; it was easy-peasy and the high temperature made sure there was no mess to clean up._ She asked why did he kill the man, and Mal said, "Because he talked too much," which shut up the older girls nicely. Sissy kept on asking bloodthirsty questions. Mal decided he liked her. Cute kid. 

Simon wasn't faring as well. The sisters laughed and cooed and admired him, slowly inching closer until they were touching his arm to draw his attention, nearly sitting on his lap. When Melody made bold enough to feed a truffle between his lips with her own hand, Lady Margery, as if she had eyes in the back of her head -- and Mal was willing to bet money that she did -- turned around and glared at Simon. 

"Sir! With each passing moment I suspect you have come to my house under false pretenses, pretending interest in my teapots when in fact you're after my daughters!" 

Simon finally succeeded disentangling himself from Mina, Tina and Melody and stood. "Ma'am, please - " 

"Don't you 'Ma'am' me. I know perfectly well that something is going on, and I won't be placated." She pointed at him. "You're no gentleman collector; just look at those shoes. You're no better than some base con man with a fancy accent, and don't think I can't tell you're from further out of the core than he is," she pointed at Mal, "which you're no bodyguard, you're a dirt-farmer. I doubt you'd know what to do with anything more deadly than a pitchfork; it's written all over you. And a Companion! Pretty enough but no style. You might impress the yokels in whatever backwater you came from, but you don't impress me." She wagged her finger at Inara, _tsk, tsk_. "Opportunists, the lot of you. Warwick Harrow put you up to this, didn't he? Don't lie! Zire warned me about you, and I should have listened when he told me he recognized your shuttle registration from a list of visitors to the Harrow estate. I preferred to believe you when you said you'd been looking at his teapots, but now I see he sent you here to tempt my daughters and tarnish their reputations." Her face darkened, growing more florid with every accusation. Zire stood suddenly between them and the door, while Margery's son cracked his neck and stood taller, pulling his coat back just enough for Mal to see the well-polished grip of a pistol hung at his hip. Big, dumb, and armed, but unlike Jayne, not in his employ. 

"Nothing could be further from the truth, I assure you," Inara said. 

"How can I believe you when they do not behave as you presented them?" The Lady Margery gestured dramatically, encompassing Mal and Simon on opposite sides of the room. "Those who are plighted one to one another do not flirt with every other pretty face in the room, and since those pretty faces belong to my daughters, I will not stand for it." 

"You're right. People in," Mal swallowed, "in love don't go looking elsewhere." The word _love_ hurt to say, but he was getting desperate to leave, and frankly, he enjoyed how everyone shut up. He was less enamored of Inara's perfect frown. She was waiting for him to do something crass, and she was most likely right, but Mal figured if she and Simon could play a role, so could Mal Reynolds. And he'd make the dowager bat believe it. "We're not here for teapots." 

Inara turned away from him, her lips set in an unhappy line. "Please, Lady Margery, he's not --" 

"No, you know it as well as I do, and I can't say I can bear your pitying looks anymore," continued Mal. He dropped his gaze to the floor before he turned slowly to Simon and, slower still, raised his head, taking in every inch of Simon's legs, his startled hands, the long, white front of his shirt from which his neck continued the elegant line of his body. Mal looked up to the black hair, sighed, and then met Simon's eyes. "It --" Mal bit his lip and steeled himself. "He meant nothing to me, Simon. Please stop punishing us both." It might be over the top, he thought, but -- "I beg you." 

Simon gaped at him. Just beyond him Mal could see Inara's mouth open, a charming _o_ of disbelief that she quickly closed. 

"I have to stop pretending. These --" _harridans_ nearly slipped out, "--handsome young ladies, charming as they are, could never hold my heart. And I don't care about porcelain collectibles any more than you like hoverbike races," Mal said, looking earnestly into Simon's eyes. "I was just trying to --" 

"You did all this for me?" Simon asked. He sounded stilted, but that worked in his favor, making him seem choked with emotion. "The artifact traders on Sihon, the markets of Persephone, the - the shady dealer from -- Skyplex," he stumbled over the names. _Paradiso, Boros, Eavesdown_ : Mal could have given a dozen examples of the bazaars and hellholes they frequented on a regular basis for their own semi-legitimate business, but in honesty, the kid was holding his own. 

"Yes," Mal said. "All for you --" He couldn't say _darling_ , he couldn't, he _wouldn't_ , but the dowager was softening, her son finally stopped cracking his knuckles, and Inara looked almost admiring -- "darling." 

"I don't care about china patterns; I only care about you. Darling." 

Lady Margery and her daughters went doe-eyed and sighed in chorus. 

Simon crossed the room, snaked his arm around Mal's waist and squeezed. Inara's indulgent smile looked suspiciously like a smirk in disguise. Mal grit his teeth and smiled, promising a messy death to pretty much everyone in the room, a looming reality if he didn't soon lay hands on that teapot and hightail it out of here at full burn. 

"Forget the teapot," Simon declared, "it's nothing." 

"No, no; you wanted it and you should get it." Mal worked his hand behind Simon and began poking him in the back. 

"And the truth shall set us free," Lady Margery said to Simon. "At last your strange behavior makes sense. Such devotion and brave honesty from your beloved demands a response. I can hardly believe such caring and virile young men wouldn't demonstrate their love for one another in some," she cleared her throat daintily, "obvious way." 

"I observe the forms of propriety, but I assure you, I'm no celibate," said Simon, enjoying the role far too much for Mal's peace of mind, "and neither is he." 

She dabbed at her eye with a lace hankie. "I must beg you to stop. Propriety doesn't allow disclosure of the, ah, details of your love affair." 

_Lying, scheming peeper,_ thought Mal, watching her track Simon's hand on Mal's ribs, making him doubly aware of it, and he wanted to stomp _propriety_ in the foot. Instead he smiled through all his teeth, Zire and the son looming quietly in his peripheral vision. 

"But I can't let this moment go unmarked," said Simon, hugging Mal tighter. "I must have a teapot, something to commemorate this reconciliation -- that one will do." He pointed to the blue and white one and named a price lower than the hard currency Harrow had provided but higher than Mal would have said. 

"Oh, the blue Willow! How perfect," she said. "Did you know the images tell a story of forbidden love? Who better to own it but two devoted lovers. Of course you must have it. I accept your offer; the teapot is yours." 

Mal could have whooped with relief at Inara's dainty little nod of confirmation, drawing away from Simon even as he marked for the hundredth time the distance to the door and how he could cover Inara as she carried the teapot, just in case there was any last-minute funny business, but Simon's hand pressed him until they were plastered one against the other. Mal could have broken free, but not without it looking like just what it was: a tussle with someone he'd as soon leave on the south end of a north-bound herd of cattle. He tried to wiggle away, but Simon pulled him face to face. "We did it, darling," he said, and kissed Mal smack on his half-open mouth. 

Simon tasted like port wine and kissed bolder than he talked, with a lick of tongue Mal recognized was part showing off, part dare and all over mocking, and it surprised the hell out of him. Wall-eyed, Mal could see Zire glaring at them narrowly from one side and Inara staring at them, strangely amused and disturbed, from the other. Rather than contemplate either too closely, he abruptly closed his eyes, turned his face to draw Simon into a deeper kiss, and thought of _Serenity_. 

* 

Of course, the Lady would not take no for an answer when she insisted yet again that they spend the night. Inara tapped at their bedroom door before Mal could put down the teapot and begin to rip into Simon. 

" _Tyen-shiao duh_ persuaded you to stage that little show, but it was exactly the right thing," Inara said admiringly. 

"I was willing to do a lot more to get out of that room." 

"More?" Simon looked appalled. "I think groping me in front of everyone was more than enough." 

"You stuck your tongue down my throat." 

"I didn't mean it. And anyway I had to make it look convincing. How affectionate would we look, _darling_ , if we didn't offer up real evidence?" 

"And here I am wasting air when you're digging yourself deep on your own, because _you_ muckled onto _me_ , tongue-kissing like Jayne and one of his Mudders drunk on Mudder's milk." 

"You did not just put that image in my head." Simon closed his eyes, looking faintly green. It might have been all the rich food and port. 

"That really wasn't called for," Inara agreed. "And stop being so stiff-necked. It was only a kiss." 

"He kissed me first," said Mal, sullen. 

"And you kissed me back," accused Simon. 

"What was I supposed to do? Defend my virtue and slap you across the face?" 

Inara cut across their rising voices. " _I_ say both of you worked very hard for your well-deserved money. I'm very proud of you for prevailing over such trying circumstances. You even managed to avoid a duel, Mal." 

"Yes, well," Mal smoothed his lapels. "Not one of the easier jobs I've taken." 

"It was awkward," Simon conceded. 

"Not as awkward as the floor, where you'll be sleeping tonight." 

"Mal!" Inara didn't put her hands on her hips, but she might as well have. "He will do no such thing. Equal partners in crime, equal share of the bed." 

"You did your part, too," Mal pointed out hopefully. 

"Oh, let me assure you, you did the heavy lifting. Besides, the Lady Margery wouldn't approve should _I_ come between you." 

"What do you mean, 'I'?" 

"I think she'd prefer to be the one to come between you. Literally." 

Mal stepped back, while Simon groaned his heart-felt misery. 

"Get out," said Mal. 

Inara laughed. "It's ridiculous because it's true. I just couldn't resist a little teasing, but I promise to stop. Honestly, I know it was hard, kissing a man for the first time in front a crowd, though you do seem remarkably unscathed. Both of you." 

"As his doctor I'm fairly certain Mal didn't give me any communicable diseases," Simon said dryly. 

"Mal? Were you traumatized?" 

"By what, the kissing, the lecherous old bat and her vampire daughters, or her bodyguard and son waiting to snap me in half if I didn't seem sincere enough during a forced lip-lock? Because I want to back up to the whole _first time_ issue and give it a better name -- the _only_ time. Ever. And if anyone says anything about this entire night --" 

Simon rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm so eager to inform the entire crew that I kissed you on the lips. They're all such paragons of discretion and taste -- I'm sure Jayne in particular wouldn't take the opportunity to bludgeon me with his wit." 

"Well, if you can't dish it, stay out of the kitchen by shutting up about it, and nobody will find out." 

"I'll keep that in mind while I _freshen up_." Simon retreated into the bathroom and shut the door. 

"He'd better not tell anyone on the ship." Mal stared at the bathroom door as he muttered darkly, as if he could threaten Simon through the walls. 

"I'll leave you to it," said Inara. 

"To what?" 

She touched his arm. "Honestly, Mal. Was it so hard for you to do this? Were you disgusted? Insulted? That was a humiliating situation, but you're not as inflexible as you pretend to be." She was gentle, but not without a little challenge in her. "What did you think of it all, kissing like that?" 

_It wasn't you,_ he thought. _It should have been you._ He could never tell her how much he wished that she'd been forced to kiss him. He'd never tell her that Simon was a damned fine kisser, either, and began working hard to disentangle Simon and Inara in his head. "You're both pretty," he muttered. 

"We're both . . . ? Ah," she said knowingly. 

"I didn't mean anything by that," Mal backpedaled quickly. "And what do you mean by _ah_?" 

"I meant nothing." 

" _Ah_ isn't nothing. Are you implying something?" 

"I would never presume." 

"I think you're presuming right now, right here in front of me." 

"Goodnight, Mal," she said, failing to suppress her mirth. 

"No, wait, I order you to tell me what you're presuming." 

Simon came out of the bathroom. "Presuming what?" 

Inara turned at the door and smiled. "Don't forget that Lady Margery will inquire into how you both slept, so Simon had better be as well-rested as you are or she'll suspect the worst -- or the best -- and insist you stay another night to, ah, recover." 

"I want the right side," said Simon. 

Mal flinched as if shot, but he didn't deny Simon a generous half of the bed. 

* 

Weeks later, Mal heard through the grapevine that Harrow and the Lady Margery had once been engaged to be married, a long time ago. It didn't explain exactly why the teapot was so important, but Mal didn't care. He just wanted to know how best to get back at the man for having started the whole mess in the first place. 

Flowers might be nice. A big bouquet of them, from Harrow to the dowager Margery, with a card that read, *My dearest love, at last I am free to express my true feelings for you . . . " * 

It was a small gesture of revenge, but like Simon's kiss, it gave Mal a certain kind of satisfaction. 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title:   **Blue Willow**   
Author:   **grit kitty**   [website]   
Details:   **Standalone**  |  **PG**  |  **gen het *slash***  |  **31k**  |  **05/31/07**   
Characters:  Malcolm, Inara, Simon   
Summary:  Remembering why he disliked Simon so well helped him ignore the pretty above the shoes.   
Notes:  Beta thanks to Nestra, Shanola2, Castalianspring.   
  



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